Marshmallow Flavored Tears
by PoisonousTiger
Summary: "Please come to my 235th birthday? It would mean the world to me, Arthur." That line was all it took, but he didn't want his former charge to know that. "I could use a vacation...but you're paying for it, & I'm only going b/c I have nothing else to do."


**Marshmallow-flavored Tears**

"Boom! Fweeeeet—Boom!" The night air filled with blossoms of green, yellow, blue, purple, red, orange, and white as fireworks flew up and up and up until they exploded in a cacophony of noise and color. The display nearly drowned out the patriotic music coming out of Alfred's boombox. He claimed a radio station was coordinating music with the show, but sometimes it seemed a little out of sync.

It didn't matter much to Arthur if he could hear the tunes anyway. They all glorified independence, liberty, and America. He didn't mind that America was his own independent country; no, he'd gotten over that issue almost two centuries ago. And yet, despite his resolve not to let it bother him, painful memories edged every song, and a slight headache had formed as a result of the repeated mention of freedom and Revolution from nearly every citizen they encountered.

"Fwa fwa fwa . . .Boom, pop-pop-pop-pop-pop!"

"Woo-Hoo! That one was awesome," Alfred yelled, fist-pumping into the air. Since he was sitting right next to Arthur, his exclamation was as loud and ear-ringing as the fireworks.

Arthur grimaced and remembered the real reason he didn't like being in the United States, let alone the backyard of Alfred's house in a city outside of Washington D.C. on July 4th—the noise reminded him of that time all those years ago—and the national anthem from that morning's flag ceremony had started those memories churning in his head:

_And the rockets' red glare, the bombs bursting in air . . . _

America yelling in his ear wasn't helping to make any part of this visit enjoyable either. If only Alfred hadn't looked so sad when Arthur had said he didn't want to celebrate the other nation's birthday in America, then maybe he could have been at home in London reading a book right now instead of tolerating all the noise and smoke. What didn't make sense to Arthur, though, was why his former-charge had chosen to watch a local fireworks show instead of the one in Washington D.C. Wasn't the one at the National Mall more spectacular and larger?

Clapping a hand to the ear closest to the younger nation, Arthur looked up from the marshmallow he had been concentrating on _not burning_ (even though the fire in front of the two nations was almost dead, he didn't want to risk looking like he couldn't cook something so simple). "Why do you insist on shouting so loudly for each one?" he scolded as he looked up into the sky just as 12 streams of white sparkles drifted earthward and disappeared. He scoffed and looked back at the other nation. "What were you going on about? That was not very spectacular."

In the dying firelight, Arthur could see Alfred raise an eyebrow. "Was too," Alfred said, pouting slightly. "Didn't you see the blue and red star-burst before it let out those white streamers?"

Arthur shook his head. "I was . . . um . . . trying to keep this bit of sugary stuff from bursting into flames." As if provoked by his words, the marshmallow did exactly that. "Bloody hell!" he shouted, bringing the flaming comet of sticky goo up from the fire-pit to blow out the inferno. A yellow firework burst above them, lighting up their faces.

Alfred laughed. "They taste better that way anyway."

"Are you serious? You do know that eating too much charred food can cause stomach cancer, right?" Arthur said with a sneer. Two bright green bursts of light filled the night air.

"Relax." Alfred grabbed the burnt marshmallow off the roasting fork he'd given Arthur using two graham crackers and a piece of chocolate. "I'll eat it if you don't want it." He bit down before Arthur could protest.

"Don't know why you're upset about it lighting on fire," Alfred grumbled. "You were mumbling something like 'Flare up and burn it down / from corner to corner with that hellfire / don't leave a single trace / burn down even their souls'* a couple minutes ago anyway." Another firework, this time a red and green one, burst into the air covering up the complaint.

"What was that? I didn't quite hear you," Arthur asked.

"Nothing. I just think you're overreacting," the younger nation replied. Three fireworks lit up the sky: red, white, and then blue.

"I worry about these things because you won't," Arthur stated.

Alfred laughed. "Um. I don't think we can get cancer. Hell, we don't even get sick unless—Cough!" His words were cut off with a sudden coughing fit.

Arthur's body reacted before his mind did; he clapped a hand to Alfred's forehead. "Are you all right?"

"I-I-I'm fine," Alfred said.

"Fweeeet! Boom!" A white firework lit up the sky and reflected off his glasses, hiding his blue eyes.

Arthur could feel heat pouring off of the younger nation's face. "You are not fine. Are you getting a cold again? I thought you said you were almost over it."

Alfred moved slightly away from him and looked away. "I am. Th-Th-there's nothing wrong with me, Artie. The cough was from all the wildfires that happen around this time of year."

"What? Are you in a drought?" Arthur asked, ignoring the nickname America insisted on calling him despite his protests.

"Huh? Nah," Alfred said. "Every year the fire department tells people to be careful with the fireworks, and every year a bunch of yahoos end up causing a few fires." As if to emphasize his words, 5 fireworks burst into the air. They formed large halo-shaped _O_s in the sky and each was a different color.

"So your temperature is up because of that?" Arthur proposed.

"Uh . . .yeeeaahh . . .we'll say that was the reason," Alfred said reaching into the plastic bag of marshmallows and sticking two on each prong of Arthur's roasting fork+. "We're almost out of these so don't burn 'em this time."

"I won't burn them if you stop distracting me, you berk," Arthur said, shoving the fluffy white treats into the low flames. They burst into flames almost immediately.

"Boom!" A green firework with purple streamers exploded a little too close to Alfred's house and rattled the windows that were closest to the explosion, causing Arthur to look at the pyrotechnic display in surprise. He felt a sense of awe and childish delight at the same time, and it galled him.

_This whole display is celebrating that cheeky brat's separation from me_, he thought. _I agreed to visit him today only because he begged me to come celebrate his 235th§ birthday. I promised myself I wasn't going to enjoy this idiotic celebration._

"Geez, Artie, do something about that," Alfred said.

Arthur glanced to where he was pointing and saw that the mass of scorched marshmallow had continued to smolder on the end of the fork. Before he could do anything, it plopped onto the burning logs and the sugar caused the flames to glow an orange-yellow color as they jumped a little higher than before. He glowered at the other nation. "What do you want me to do about it?" he said. "I'm not reaching in there and rescuing it now. I don't see what the allure is anyway. I mean, it's just a marshmallow between some biscuits and chocolate."

Alfred laughed. "Here." He handed Arthur two graham crackers. Before Arthur could protest, Alfred placed some chocolate on one of them and then held up the marshmallows on the end of his roasting fork.

"Fweeeee! Pop. Pop-pop-pop-pop-pop!" A staccato of white and blue sparks from an airborne firework illuminated the confection, and Arthur could see that the marshmallows were a golden color. _It figures __**he**__ would be able to roast them perfectly,_ he thought sardonically.

"Hurry before it gets cold," Alfred commanded. "The chocolate won't melt unless you cause some sandwiching pressure."

Arthur raised an eyebrow and let out a small laugh. _Sandwiching pressure? Is that another silly phrase he's made up? _

Suddenly, Alfred placed the handle of the roasting fork between his legs to hold it steady, guided the marshmallows between the crackers, and then put his hands over Arthur's and pushed them together, smashing the marshmallows between the two graham crackers and chocolate.

Arthur's cheeks grew hot with embarrassment. "I-I-I don't need your bloody help. I'm not a child, you know."

Alfred caught Arthur in his gaze. "I know."

Two fireworks exploded above, white with a bright blue centers. "Well if you know, then stop helping me," Arthur said. _Stupid git_, he scolded himself for all the reactions Alfred was pulling out of him. _I doubt __**he's**__ reacting the same way. _

Alfred removed his hands from Arthur's, and the older nation noticed his hands grow slightly cooler at the action.

"Well, try it," Alfred said. "You said you wanted to know what the big deal is. You won't know 'till you chomp down."

Arthur glanced at the gooey mess as it oozed out of the sides of the graham cracker "sandwich".

"C'mon. I worked extra hard to get those perfect just for you," Alfred stated.

"Fweeeee! Pop. Pop-pop-pop-pop-pop!" Another staccato of sparks, this time yellow and purple, tickled the sky.

Arthur's competitive nature finally won out over his pride, and he quickly bit down on the treat. Chocolate, marshmallow, and honey-graham cookie competed for attention. It was good if a little too sweet for his taste.

"Well?"

"It's acceptable."

"I'll take that as 'I like it'. Would you like S'more?" Alfred chuckled at the pun.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "No. I have no desire to eat any more sweets tonight." His stomach turned as he thought about the feast of hamburgers, hotdogs, corn on the cob, potato salad, crisps, biscuits, cake, candy floss, snow cones, licorice, and other sweets that had already been forced upon him earlier, first at the street fair after the parade, and then again at dinner. The still-full feeling from the day's eating events mixed with nausea at the thought of eating more food. "Honestly, I don't know how you can eat all that stuff."

Alfred shrugged and laughed lightly. "You know me."

Arthur _did_ know his former-charge. As a child, even though he'd already had a good meal, Alfred would sneak snacks and sweets all the time. Arthur huffed. He wasn't going to let America trick him into feeling nostalgic so that he'd be happy for being emotionally blackmailed into visiting his country during Independence Day.

"Hey Artie, you've got some chocolate on your face," Alfred said, bringing him out of his thoughts. He pointed to his right cheek.

Arthur wiped his left cheek. "Did I get it?"

"No."

He wiped his cheek again. "How about now?"

"No. Artie, it's still there," Alfred said, smiling. "Hold still. I'll get it for ya." The younger nation leaned over, grabbed Arthur by the shoulders, and licked his right cheek.

"Yum," Alfred said, sitting back and licking his lips.

A large red flower bloomed against the darkened sky, and Arthur's face suddenly seemed as though it could mimic the fire-engulfed marshmallows from earlier. "W-w-what the hell? That was disgusting!" he said, clapping a hand where he'd been licked and reeling slightly backwards away from the other nation.

"Really? I thought it tasted good," Alfred said.

"I wasn't talking about the chocolate, you git," Arthur stated, folding his arms and glaring at him.

"I wasn't talking about the chocolate either," Alfred said with a slight smile. Then he looked up and rubbed his chin as if he was trying to figure out something puzzling. "Or was I?" He glanced at Arthur again and let out a small laugh.

Arthur opened his mouth to say something but all that came out was "I—". His cheeks grew warm and his heart flip-flopped in his chest. Alfred's clear blue eyes held Arthur captive as the air around them seemed to grow heavy and sparked with electricity (at least, that's how it felt to Arthur).

"BOOM BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM!" The entire sky lit up with red, white, and blue fireworks as the music from Alfred's boombox swelled to a finale. The crowd that had been watching all over the neighborhood began cheering loudly and clapping.

Alfred turned to watch the pyrotechnics. A million-dollar smile found its way to his face, and he let out a laugh as he applauded the spectacle. Arthur managed to look away from Alfred long enough to see the last part of the grand finale. There wasn't a piece of sky that wasn't painted with sparkling color.

"Fantastic!" Arthur heard himself say just as the music faded out. He mentally cursed at himself for getting caught up in the moment.

"Yeah it was," Alfred said.

_Blast it! I was hoping he hadn't heard me_, he moaned internally. He glanced over at the other nation.

Alfred smiled warmly at him. "Thank you for celebrating my birthday with me," he said. He reached out to Arthur and pulled him into a bear hug.

"Alfred . . . can't breathe . . ." Arthur managed to get out. He gasped for air, then the hug loosened in reaction.

"Thank you," Alfred whispered in his ear. "I thought you hated being around me on my birthday, but you still came here anyway."

Arthur felt his throat tighten, and he blinked back the stinging in his eyes. "I don't hate being around you any time of the year, you idiot. It's just that today brings back some memories I don't enjoy."

Alfred moved away and gripped the older nation's shoulders. He furrowed his brow as he studied Arthur's face. "That's why I wanted you to think of today as my birthday, not my Independence Day," he said. "Wasn't that obvious? I tried not to mention any of that stuff all day." He jerked his head toward where the boombox was sitting. "I couldn't help the music, though. All the stations were playing the same stuff."

Alfred brushed Arthur's bangs away from his eyes and smiled. "And for the record, I don't hate being around you either."

Warm tears start to flow down Arthur's cheeks, but he didn't care anymore. _So if he doesn't mind spending time with me, does that mean Alfred doesn't hate me?_ he thought. A memory flashed in his head. Alfred was dressed in his Revolutionary War uniform. He looked down at Arthur as he knelt in the mud and rain. With a new clarity that Arthur never had before, he saw the pain on Alfred's face. _Wait. Maybe he never hated me. Did I get that all wrong?_

_And if Alfred doesn't hate me, then . . ._ Arthur's heart jumped at that thought; warmth filled his chest and flowed over his body, but fear still tinged the edge of the pleasant feeling. _Calm down. He only said he 'doesn't hate being around you',_ Arthur told himself. _Don't get carried away. Still . . . Alfred doesn't __**hate**__ spending time with me and that's_ . . . More tears started to flow, but this time they didn't sting.

Concern crossed Alfred's face. He released Arthur's shoulders, delicately wiped away the fresh tears with his fingers, and then hugged him again, more gently this time. "Hey now. None of that," he said quietly. "I don't want to be the reason that you're crying anymore."

"Idiot. I'm not crying because I'm _sad_." Arthur buried his face in Alfred's shoulder and clung tightly to him as he sniffed back the tears. And for some reason, the embrace felt like home.

* * *

><p><strong>AN**

**Reviews are greatly loved and appreciated.**

**I realized after posting this the first time that there weren't enough fireworks in the show, so I added more, but now I worry that I've added too many (I hoped that the fireworks would help reflect the mood instead of distract—let me know if they distract from the mood)**

***That's right: it's England's "Demon Summoning Song". ;p  
>+ Roasting forks are similar to any roasting stick out there except they have two prongs for roasting instead of one. My family likes to use them bc you can cook more food at once and they're easier to control which helps prevent your food from burning . . . unless you're trying to burn it like my silly brother does every year (pyromaniac).  
>§To me, 2011 is especially awesome now bc it's been 235 years.**

**Translations of English slang  
>berk – jerk<br>biscuits – cookies  
>crisps – potato chips<br>candy floss – cotton candy  
>git – idiot<strong>

**Before you accuse me of it: Yes. I enjoy keeping England and America's relationship a little vague. I prefer to let you make of their reactions and actions what you want to. It's more fun that way, right? **

**And for the record, that whole thing with Alfred licking Arthur's cheek came from a time I did the same thing to my little sister. I was teasing her, but I would never do that to someone I didn't feel a close attachment to. Finally, even though this is shown from Arthur's POV, it's USUK b/c Alfred is the one who's making the effort to cross the bridge of tsundereness.**

**I hope you enjoyed this one-shot. I wanted to enter a "Fourth of July" USUK contest on Deviantart (check my profile "homepage" for the link to my DA account), but I also thought I'd share this with you as well.**

**Finally, I just heard Christina Perri's beautiful new single, "Arms", and realized that it really illustrated the mood that I was hoping to establish at the end of the one-shot. According to Christina, "'Arms' is about the fight between your heart and your mind. Your heart wants to be loved, but your head is always telling you reasons not to be with him or her, or how you are not worth the love. It's about the struggle and finally giving in when you're wrapped in [his or her] arms. Then you get it. Then you feel loved and love wins" (quote from songfacts {dot} com). That's exactly what I feel about my fic's ending, and I hope that's what you got from it too (BTW I also want to establish that the last line in the fic is totally just a coincidence. I didn't copy Christina).**


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